I love that he doesn't care about getting wet or messy. If something brings him joy, he doesn't think about it. He is completely un-self-conscious about his body, his likes, his life.
Rocks and sticks are still treasures. He relishes pulling a slimy green plant out of the lake. "What's this!"—more a joyful exclamation than a question. Because it's cool, that's what it is.
"What did you bwing to eat?" Just a snack. It's lunchtime but I didn't think we'd stay this long.
He wants to eat his snack way out there (pointing). So we walk out to the edge of the dock and sit out in the sun, munching quietly. He asks about the painted letters by our feet: NO SWIMMING.
Tortilla chips and a bit of vegan rice cheese for him, raw almonds for me. "You're welcome to have some almonds too," I tell him, "but I know you don't really care for them."
As we walk back to the shallow water, he "reads" the signs to me. Then he climbs back into the lake to continue searching for underwater treasure.